Prologue
Soft morning on paper’s edge.
Ears like question marks, eyes like commas —
a grammar of calm emerges from graphite breath.

Body I
New law: tenderness has mass.
It bends the light of pencils,
pulling circles into meaning.
The Pig gazes forward,
and the whole page listens.
Shadows kneel, outlines murmur —
the snout becomes a moon of modest gravity.

Body II
“Why draw me twice,” Pig asks,
“when I already contain my echo?”
The artist nods, erases, redraws,
and finds the same face smiling under the dust.

Dada Break
Oink—ink—think—plink!
Graphite giggles in lowercase.

Closing
The law fades.
Only stillness remains —
round, real, and quietly infinite.